Collide
by Laura Dugan
Summary: What will it take before House and Cameron collide?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I don't own any of this... House, Cameron, the show, the songs I use... Trust me, I have no money. I just do this for fun. I love reviews - a big thank you to those who have been so kind so far! I hope to keep hearing from everyone. Thanks to Jay for pointing out my little continuity problem.

* * *

_Even the best fall down sometimes  
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme  
Out of the doubt that fills my mind  
Isomehow find  
You and I collide _

Howie Day - Collide

**One.**

"I'm leaving."

It wasn't supposed to be this way. This was date number two. Number three if you counted the monster trucks, which he had begun to do. Their first date – the non-date – was the best kind of date. Its classification as "everything but the date part" allowed them both to enjoy themselves without further pressure. Or so he told himself. He wondered what went through her head that evening. He had been surprised to find himself actually being himself that night. Genuinely laughing. Enjoying the wonder in her eyes as she watched the mammoth vehicles seemingly deny physics as they launched themselves over obstacle after obstacle. Stealing her cotton candy, tempted to kiss her undoubtedly oh so sweet lips. One moment in a day in a week in a year in a lifetime that wasn't filled with snark. Just laughter. When had he laughed like that before?

The second date: something to prove. She to prove they could make this work, her childish ideas of romance and relationships. He to prove just the opposite. He had credited himself with the win until she told him she loved him. Not then. Not then and not in those words. But soon enough.

"I thought you were too screwed up to love anyone. I was wrong. You just couldn't love me."

He watched her walk away. Always watching her walk away. Evaluating. Re-evaluating. Over and over and over. And over. Always a puzzle. Even now. Especially now.

Leaving?

"You just couldn't love me."

His gaze turned from her to Stacy, but he didn't see Stacy. He saw words. "You just couldn't love me." Scrawled in black across a white board. Stealing his markers. Marking her territory. "You just couldn't love me." He imagined, dreamt, heard the unsaid. Addendum. Footnote. "The way I love you."

Real date number two. House date number three. He still didn't know why he did it. Just asked. Two days after Alfredo was discharged. Lying on the couch in his office, facing the glass wall so he could watch her. Eyes poring over her, brain trying to tear her down, build her back up. Failure. Data does not compute. Who _is_ Allison Cameron? Weak, strong, naïve, battered, afraid, fearless. None of the above. All of the above. Blue eyes so like his.

So like his.

Lazily dragged himself off the couch, meandered over to the doorway. Quick glance: Foreman, Chase, gone. Eyes back on her. Wondered why she changed her hair color. He had liked it before. Not sure he liked it now. Changing her hair, changing herself. "I've jumped on the bandwagon. I hate you, okay?" Okay.

Fucking leaving?

He hears "I hate you" and decides to ask her on a date. Staring, again, from the door, those words reverberating in his head. Hate. You. Hate. You. The metronome of his subconscious.

He wonders at his own change. Thinks of how he treated her this last case, harsh, mean. Thinks of weeks earlier, a cup of hot tea wordlessly placed in his hands. She did many things wordlessly. He wasn't sure who was crazier: her for putting up with his cruel words, for allowing herself to fall in love with him; or him for treating her like hell, for not allowing himself to fall in love with her.

Blue eyes finally rise followed by two perfectly groomed eyebrows.

"What?"

"Do you want to have dinner tomorrow?" He's amazed he's still looking into her eyes. He's suddenly filled with… what? Fear? Not House. Never House. Surprise? Possibly. Ah, concern, that's it: she'll say yes, she'll say no, he'll be happy, he'll be sad.

A moment's hesitation. A blink. "Fine."

"Great. Seven?"

Eyes fall back to the computer screen. "Fine."

No corsage this time. Had to bring something. A single rose. Almost made himself late, knowing that each color held a meaning. Definitely not red. Nor pink; too close to red. White was for weddings. And gardenias. He wondered if she dried the corsage, placed it among others from her past. Settled on an obviously genetically engineered cyber-rose. Was nothing sacred? Fiery sun at the stem fading to summer peach.

She took the flower, breathed in its scent, and offered him a quick, almost sad smile. Walked to the kitchen to put it in water. He let himself in, watching her move. Flower in perfect bud vase in perfect placement on the coffee table.

"I'll just be a minute."

Watched her walk away, confusion on his face. What could she have left to do? She looked beautiful. Sky blue camisole under a see-through cream-colored button-down cashmere sweater. Form-fitting gray slacks with matching blue pinstripe. House in khaki and a long sleeved black v-neck sweater. Not his usual attire, but Wilson had talked him into it, saying it "showed off the guns."

She emerged moments later, hands in her hair, a clip in her mouth as she gathered up the curly mass.

House watched for a moment as she worked to gather every strand.

"I like it better down."

Her eyes fixed on his, a slightly bewildered expression on her face, as her hands froze in position. Slowly she lowered her hands and combed her fingers through her hair. She consulted a mirror that hung in her living room and tucked her hair behind her ears. She was surprised her face wasn't on fire from the warmth she felt at House's gaze. He liked it better down.

She wished he'd told her sooner.

She turned to face him. "Let's go."

"I'm leaving."

"Better offer? Find a boss willing to sleep with you? Must not have been that difficult…" Something in her eyes halted his usual snark, his immediate defense to uncomfortable situations. Fuck. She was serious. "Right. Vacation. You could use a break."

"No. Not vacation." Her tone. Sadder than it had ever been before. He was drawn to her eyes, but there weren't tears there. Only a steely resignation he recognized from the last time she had said she was leaving. But she had come back. He had brought her back. "A leave of absence. Already had it approved by Cuddy."

Damn. Eyes down. Left. Right. Anywhere but on her. If I can't see you, it can't be true. Approved by Cuddy?

"Isn't this usually the kind of thing your _supervisor_ should approve?"

"I knew you wouldn't, so I went to Cuddy."

Yes, something definitely was wrong. A fog, a buzz in his ears. Cameron, his Cameron, didn't go behind his back like this. He reached into his pocket and popped one, then two Vicodin. Close eyes. Swallow. Breathe.

Hate. You. Hate. You.

"Well," en garde, "Oh ye of little faith! I guess you'll never know what I would have said!"

She eyed him levelly. "House."

"No, no. I see how it is…" Snark in full force. On the offensive. "You think because we shared cotton candy you know everything about me."

"Stop it. This is not an episode of _General Hospital_." She kept her tone even, low, cool.

Shit. Well. Not the reaction he was hoping for. He wanted her angry. Wanted her to yell and scream and tell him what a bastard he was and that she was leaving him for another man – a pediatrician with a flourishing practice who wanted to marry her and have a dozen children with disgustingly cute names like Hunter and Dakota and probably even Cameron, after their dear mommy, the new Mrs. Dr. Perfect.

Breathe.

"I am well aware of that. If this were _General Hospital_, I would be called off to the ER STAT to save the town's richest but most evil villain – but not before I declared my undying love for you and then confessed that I once slept with your best friend who is actually your mother!"

Slammed her fist on the table. Finally. Now, to the pediatrician.

She stood. His eyes followed her. He couldn't help it. And there she was, hand outstretched toward his. "Goodbye, Greg."

Greg. Shit.

He had been surprised at her hands the first time he touched them. He had expected perfectly smooth skin, baby soft, assuming she spent hours every night maintaining her perfect body. But they had been real – soft to the touch, yes, but not unused. Slightly calloused, slightly raw from the incessant hand washing that took place at hospitals. It had made him appreciate her even more.

Ignoring her hand, he grabbed his cane and stood, forcing himself to stare into her eyes. "Let's get out of here."

"I don't think…"

"Come on, Cameron. Sounds like this will be the last night we have together. Let's make something of it."

Cameron studied his face, trying to read what was behind his eyes. She didn't see any of his usual defenses, the usual distance he kept there to ensure he wouldn't get hurt. If she didn't know better, she would have said he looked upset, sad even. She nodded slowly. Only then did he take her hand, holding it as they walked out of the restaurant.


	2. Chapter 2

_All of the things that I want to say  
Just aren't coming out right  
I'm tripping on words, you got my head spinning  
I don't know where to go from here _

_Lifehouse – You and Me_

**Two.**

He drove. Cameron sat in the passenger seat watching him. His eyes were concentrated on the road. The silence was unbearable, so Cameron took a chance and reached for the radio, pleasantly surprised to find a Norah Jones CD in the player.

"Only modern singer I can tolerate," House shared, then said no more.

After a few miles, Cameron began to recognize their route: they were headed to House's condo. As they pulled into the driveway, House turned off the ignition and opened the garage, but made no move to get out of the car. Finally, he pointed to the right side of the garage.

Too busy watching House to notice the motorcycle, Cameron was surprised. House got out and walked to the bike, Cameron following suit.

"Call it a mid-life crisis gift to myself. Or better yet, think of it as a reward."

"Reward for what?" She ran her hand appreciatively over the leather seat, before swiftly throwing her leg over and mounting the bike.

House had never been so turned on in his life.

He walked to her, unable to resist the temptation to mount the bike behind her, settling in with far less grace than she had, but nearly throwing Cameron off her balance as his hands came to rest comfortably on her thighs. Warmth spread through her, in and up and all over and she couldn't be sure if the feral sound she had felt in her core actually made it past her lips. It must have because House chuckled softly.

"Ever ride one of these before?" The double entendre couldn't have been more obvious and yet Cameron felt herself flush further.

She licked her lips. "Yeah. Been a while, though. Seems bigger than I remembered." She scooted herself so she was pressed tighter against House and he became enormously grateful he was wearing khakis and not constraining jeans.

Caught off guard by both her movements and the husky tone to her voice, House was stunned momentarily and tried to recover by clearing his throat. "Up," he said suddenly and squeezed her thighs. Surprised, she stood and stared at him. He gestured to a shelf in the corner where two helmets sat. "Grab those. Let's go."

She picked the helmets up off the shelf, but instead of handing House his, she plopped it on his head and bent down so she was eye to eye with him as she clasped the buckle. "You gonna let me drive?"

"Depends." Her blue eyes so close, bore into him, and he inhaled her sweet fragrance. "Have you been a good girl?"

Her grin was most definitely not a good girl grin. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He grinned back. "On the bike." She straddled the bike behind him, pressing against his back as she wrapped her arms around him. "Hold on!" he yelled as the engine roared and he deftly maneuvered the bike into the night. Her arms tightened, but she hadn't needed any encouragement.

She was glad for her helmet, which hid from him her silent tears.

He drove to Kirby Park, a small recreational area next to Carnegie Lake that included walking paths, play areas, and benches by the water.

When House had parked the bike, Cameron quickly dismounted and removed her helmet, wiping at her cheeks under cover of fixing her wind-blown hair.

It was fully night now; the sky lit by half a moon – dark and light, good and evil.

She heard House dismount behind her, heard the click as his helmet buckle was released, the snaps as he released his cane from its customized holder. The park was empty, it being after ten, and Cameron felt in the cool dark as if every one of her senses were heightened.

Her eyes focused on the sky.

"Cameron?"

She turned and stared at him, emotions roiling. Her eyes slid off his to a spot behind. "Swing?"

"Not recently. And only if both couples are okay with it. Don't want any hurt feelings, you know."

A small smile was his reward. She walked away and House's eyes followed her as she headed to a swing set. She settled into the swing and began pumping her legs, flying higher and higher, hair trailing wildly behind her. House made his way to her, eyes never leaving her face. She seemed at once so young and so old. She looked like a child as she swung back and forth, the gentle moonlight softening her already smooth features. But her eyes, the expression on her face. House wasn't sure if he believed in souls, but at that moment, Cameron looked as if she was inhabited by a veteran soul. One that had barely survived what life had thrown its way.

What had happened to his Cameron? Perpetually perky, optimistic, seeing the best in everything. He realized over the last two years he had slowly been draining her of herself. He hated himself for it. He had wanted to save her from her naïvety, but for the first time was realizing that a woman who at 21 had become a widow couldn't be that naïve. Was this the real Cameron and the other an act?

Back and forth, she continued. House sat on the swing next to her and slowly rocked back and forth. Cameron's pace began to slow and eventually she came to a stop. She twisted in her swing to face him.

"Reward for what?"

House furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

"The bike. You said to think of it as a mid-life crisis gift. Or as a reward. A reward for what?"

House hedged, his mind paging through the book of appropriately snarky responses. The book, normally hundreds of pages thick with words, was nothing but blank paper. However, the book of truth, much thinner and far less worn, seemed readily available. He sighed.

"A reward for moving on." He began to push off with his left leg, getting enough movement so he could pump with both legs. His muscles screamed, but he continued. Cameron watched him glide, wondering when he would reach for his Vicodin. But he continued to swing. She was struck by the metaphor of the situation. She and House, both in motion, but never at the same time.

"Do you like me?"

"No."

"Why would you support someone who screws up?"

"Because I'm not insanely insecure, and because I can actually trust in another human being, and I am not an angry, misanthropic son of a bitch."

"What happened to 'Everybody lies'?"

"I lied."

House slowed to a stop, rubbing at his thigh. "Interesting concept, exercising the dead."

Cameron didn't respond, just rocked heel to toe as she stared out at the lake.

Unable to stand the silence any more, House blurted, "What do I have to do to get you to stay this time? I asked you on another date and you didn't even make me. You don't expect me to propose or anything do you?"

He looked so stricken at the thought Cameron almost laughed, before feeling incredibly depressed even though she hoped it was more the institution of marriage than the thought of her as his wife that House couldn't handle.

Softly. "I'm not so sure I want to be a doctor any more."

She had finally done it. For the first time in a very, very long time, House's mind went completely blank. Shock. Disbelief. Surprise.

When she had said she was leaving, he had settled on an allowance – a small breakdown of his exterior necessary to get her to stay. A kiss. He was planning to kiss her.

Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?


	3. Chapter 3

_So you sailed away  
__into a gray sky morning  
__now I'm here to stay  
__love can be so boring_

_Vertical Horizon – Best I Ever Had_

**Three.**

Okay. Okay. Focus. Fight. "So I see how it is, work gets tough so you just run away. That's great, Cameron, way to be strong."

Cameron filled with rage, but she pushed it down, her voice tight, she spoke through clenched teeth. "That's nice, House. Aren't you the one who's questioned my decision to become a doctor since day one? Too soft? Too emotional?"

Oops. "You're a good doctor. You're learning."

"I appreciate that. And don't think I'm considering leaving because of you, because you don't like me, because you're too hard on me."

His eyes on her. "I do like you."

A sad smile. "I know." She stood, the swing behind her swaying in her path. Still moving. Still gone. She walked over to the lake and House followed, loping slowly in her wake. He had an intense desire to wrap his arms around her and rest his head on hers. Instead, he yanked on a chunk of her hair.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I figured you'd get mad if I tried to knock some sense into you. This was the next best thing. That, or toss you in the lake."

"Physical abuse isn't going to change my mind. I haven't even made up my mind yet."

"What about sex?"

She stared, wide eyed. "Are you offering to sleep with me to get me to stay?"

House shrugged. "Wouldn't take much to get me to have sex with you."

The joke fell flat. Cameron sighed. "Do you remember Cindy?"

A blank stare.

To the water, "Of course you wouldn't."

"Young woman, lung cancer, probably dead by now."

"She's not. Still holding on," another sad smile. "You're not the only one. Wilson gets on me about my apparent inability to tell a patient they are going to die." She paused, and turned to face him. "I told Wilson that when a good person dies, there should be an impact on the world. Somebody should notice. Somebody should be upset. I still don't understand what's so wrong with a doctor caring whether or not a patient dies. We're supposed to care."

"But we're not supposed to take it home."

"I know that," a bit petulant. "Andie's dead."

House's head snapped up. "Already?"

"Yeah. Caught the flu from school, turned to pneumonia, compromised immune system… Chase called me right before dinner."

"And you're telling me now because?"

"I thought you'd want to know."

He rubbed his face. "Andie, Cindy, what are you trying to get at, Cameron? Patients die. It's a part of life. You're a doctor, you watched your husband die, you know what happens at the end of the line. What now? What changed?"

"I did." Firm, unyielding.

He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd noticed. He wanted to blame hormones, blood sugar, misfiring neurons, something. Not a new Cameron.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going home for a while. I haven't seen my parents in far too long. I want to see my sister and brother, my nieces and nephews."

"So take a vacation."

She shook her head. "I need to not have work weighing on my brain. I need a break. Technically, I'm not quitting. It's a leave, a sabbatical. I could still come back."

"But you're not going to," amazed he sounded so like a child. A sideways glance, unable to meet her eyes.

"I don't know."

"You're a good doctor, Allison."

Crunch. Heart. Broken. "Thank you," a whisper. "I can't stay."

"I know."

She wondered how they'd ended up in this 1940s drama. Frankly, my dear… "It's not because of you."

Everybody lies. He watched the lake. A fish darted up, raising ripples in the surface. He watched them flow toward the sand, felt it flow right through him.

His arm reached out, across her back, squeezed her shoulder. She turned into him, sighing into the nape of his neck. House wrapped his arms around her waist, finding comfort in the gesture, unfamiliar and yet familiar. A sense of home. He allowed himself to just hold her, breathing deeply, taking in her scent of sweet pea and soap. Even her hair smelled good.

"It's not you," she said again, into his neck, tightening her arms around him.

"Yeah, it is." Like Midas, except everything he touched turned cold.

Cameron pulled back. She spoke, her voice quiet. "You didn't kill my husband, you didn't shape my emotional process. You've changed me, made me stronger, make me question myself – made me challenge the status quo. You made my cry, made me hate you, made me hate myself." He tore his gaze from her and looked over her shoulder and into the black of the lake. "I'm not leaving because I want you to chase after me, or because I'm afraid, or because I love you. I'm leaving because I need to. For me. I know you think I handle things by leaving, and maybe I do, but right now, taking a break from work, getting away, is what I need."

House continued to stare at the water, Cameron's words, like pebbles, dotting the surface of his brain. It was the first time that she actually admitted out loud that she loved him. He felt her hand on his cheek, soft and warm against his stubble. He drew his eyes toward her. Bad move. Crystal blue, surprisingly calm, searching his. Damn.

He lowered his lips to hers, a gentle kiss. She tasted sweet and seemed to melt into him. The exact stereotypical soap opera kiss he would have expected from her. Except it was real. Too real. It wasn't possible. She was half his age, all wrong for him – needy and dependent. And yet kissing her awakened something within him that he had thought was long dead.

She ended the kiss, nuzzling her head into his neck, sighing into the smooth of his skin. House stiffened for a moment, instantly regretting letting his guard down, if even for a second.

They stood, unmoving, a gentle breeze floating off the water. House allowed her to linger there, realizing it may be his last opportunity to keep her near. She surprised him by pulling back first. She looked up, those blue eyes meeting his.

"Take me home."

He nodded. They walked back to the motorcycle, Cameron's hand in his, fitting far too well.

They snapped on their helmets and House climbed on first, Cameron nestling in behind him.

He drove fast, too fast, and Cameron wondered if it would be considered a comedy or a tragedy if the cripple and the ingénue died in a motorcycle accident, twisted together as one in death as they could never be in life. Pleasant.

He slowed as they neared the city, Cameron refraining from commenting as he drove back to his place, not hers. They both knew what was going to happen – both taking advantage of her inevitable departure.

He pulled into the garage and she let herself into the house, removing her leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor. House stared at the black puddle, dead, crumpled on the floor. Leather boots followed, then belt, with a crack, metal on wood.

And he crashed into her, lips pressed to hers, hands thrust into her hair, getting lost in the silkiness. He backed her against a wall, drawing his lips from her mouth to devour her neck. A moan. Cane to the floor with a thud. Hard. Wood.

His hands continued to roam, finding everything smooth, so smooth, and he reached for the buttons on her sweater, fumbling. She pulled back, and House cringed inwardly, anticipating the protest. He the fire, she the wet blanked. But he was wrong.

Smoldering eyes made him grow harder and he wondered again what someone like her wanted with someone like him. She kissed him once at the corner of his mouth, nibbled on his lower lip. His turn to moan. Slender fingers worked buttons, his, hers, pushed the cotton off his shoulders. He reached for her but she pushed him back. A wicked smile he could never have imagined on sweet Cameron, his Cameron.

"Bedroom."

A nod.

She headed down the hall, seeming to instinctively know where to go.

He thumped after her, the pain in his leg forgotten as her sweater fell to the floor. She crawled into his bed, darkness enveloping her, and House was on top of her, hands exploring under the silk of her camisole. Her back arched in response as his hands touched the most sensitive parts of her skin.

He kept waiting, kept anticipating her words, excuses, explanations for what they were doing, why it was a good idea, bad idea, oooh so good as she slid her hand down his pants.

But there were no words, no words of substance, only moans and groans and oh god oh god and she was so tight, and he felt strangely honored to be one of the few. He held on to her, thrust into her, a perfect fit, and oh god oh god oh Greg and he believed in that moment that he was a little bit in love with her.


	4. Chapter 4

_Excuse me please, one more drink.  
__Would you make it strong,  
__Cause I don't need to think.  
__She broke my heart,  
__My grace is gone.  
__Another drink and I'll move on.  
__One more drink and I'll move on._

_Dave Matthew's Band – Grace is Gone_

**Four.**

He thought she would want to snuggle, expected her to curl up against him, murmuring sweet nothings borrowed from some romantic comedy. But she didn't. She just smiled at him, a secret sexy smile, and lay on her stomach, the smooth skin of her side pressed to his.

He remembered reading somewhere that those who slept on their stomach were insecure, afraid to face the world. Those who slept on their back were wide open, ready for anything.

He slept on his back.

They fell asleep, side by side, unmoving.

She slept on her stomach.

Somewhere around two, House woke up to find Cameron exploring the curve of his chest with her fingers. Their lovemaking this time was slow and purposeful, lacking the heat of their initial encounter, but not the intensity.

Cameron was amazed as House seemed to hone in on those parts of her which were most sensitive and she did her best in return. Judging by the grunts and groans coming from him, she assumed she succeeded.

When they collapsed, both spent, House wrapped his arms around Cameron's waist, keeping her half on top of him, her left leg wrapped around his, enjoying the weight of her on him.

Cameron listened carefully until House's breathing evened, sleep quick to come, encouraged by physical activity and Vicodin. She carefully extracted herself, resting on her side for a moment as she took in his sleeping profile.

The hidden undertone of pain was gone, as was the perpetual look of incredulity – that classic House "what the hell is wrong with the human race" look. He looked peaceful – happy, almost, and Cameron took a picture with her mind, wanting to preserve him in this rare moment of openness.

She slid out of bed, her movements small and measured, to avoid waking him. She followed her trail of clothing, dressing along the way, skin flushed as she pictured what had happened in that hallway just hours earlier.

Fully dressed, she returned to the bedroom, where House was still out cold, asleep.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a sudden wave of sadness enveloping her. It was now or never. She crossed to the bed and softly kissed House on the forehead. He stirred slightly, but didn't wake. Gently she stroked his cheek, forcing herself to turn back to the door. Once there, she cast a final glace over her shoulder and whispered, "I love you," into the dark.

He woke and first groped blindly for his bottle of Vicodin, unaccustomed to such late night antics. He swallowed two pills dry, leaning back, eyes closed. He then reached for Cameron, opening one than another eye. Empty. He listened for a moment, hearing no other signs of life in his house.

Choosing to be optimistic for once, House dragged himself out of bed, using the spare cane he kept by his nightstand. Not in the bathroom. Looked right, then left down the hallway. Nothing. Out to the kitchen. Empty coffee pot, empty sink, empty life.

He leaned on the counter, equally parts relieved and pissed. Relieved to avoid the awkward "morning after" discussion and pissed at her for being the one to walk out without a goodbye.

He went to the fridge and noticed the slip of paper on the counter. A note – written on a prescription, undoubtedly the only blank paper she could find. Just two words in her perfect curly script: "Goodbye, House."

He slept on his back. She slept on her stomach.

What a load of shit.

Even those who were most accustomed to House admitted that week he was unusually unbearable. Chase and Foreman experienced the brunt of his wrath, especially without Cameron around to placate House, although Wilson experienced his fair share of torture.

By Friday, everyone had had enough. At 3:00, Cuddy called House into her office.

"Good afternoon, Sexretary," House bellowed as he approached her door. He thrust the door open and entered with Kramer-like pizzazz, loudly exclaiming, "No, Cuddy, I will not have a threesome with you and Chase. This has to stop."

Her glare would have brought Superman to his knees, but not the infallible House. He turned in surprise at the click of the door and caught the slightest glimpse of the secretary retreating. "He's like an oompa loompa, mysteriously lurking in the background doing your bidding. Except he's not orange. But I have a patient who can help him with that."

"House!"

"What?"

"Go away."

House plunked down on the couch, twirling his cane like a baton. "You call me away from a dying patient to tell me to go away?"

"Your patient isn't dying. You don't even have a patient right now."

"I'm a doctor for PPTH. I'm sure somewhere in this hospital someone is dying."

Cuddy rubbed at her temples.

"Tumor?" House posed. "'It's not a tumor'," he continued, in his best Schwarzenegger impression.

"What is wrong with you?" Cuddy stood, then changed her mind and sat back down. "Never mind. Don't answer that." She took a deep breath and leveled her gaze at him. "You need to go away. Take a break, a vacation, something. You may frequently take vacations from the clinic, but I can't remember the last time you actually took a day off."

House stared at her curiously. "Why?"

"Because you're driving us nuts." He continued to stare. "More than usual. Look, House, since Cameron left you've been a menace." Cuddy took note of how House's eyes left hers at the mention of the pretty doctor's name. "Chase is ready to quit, Wilson's threatened bodily harm, we've had a half a dozen patients wanting to bring up lawsuits against you this week alone, and even Foreman's mentioned spiking your coffee with Valium."

"Traitor."

Cuddy sighed. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

House blinked quickly, his only sign of surprise. "I thought you knew I slept with all of my female patients. And some of the males. Which one are you talking about?"

"You know who I'm talking about."

"Did you sleep with Cameron?"

"What?" Cuddy was shocked.

"See, you don't like the question either."

"This is the deal," Cuddy got up and walked to the couch where she stood looking hard down at House. "I can't get Cameron to come back. I've tried everything. So has Wilson. If you want her back, you have to go get her. If she doesn't want to come back, you need to get yourself an attitude adjustment, because I am not going to stand for another week like this one."

"You say that all of the time."

"I'm serious this time."

"What are you going to do? Spank me? Please spank me!"

Her patience at an end, Cuddy leaned down so she was eye to eye with him. "Oh, I'll do something much worse."

"Such as?"

"Spread rumors."

"Not a problem. Happens all the time."

"Not those kinds of rumors. Nice rumors. About how kind you were to patients in the clinic. About how you agreed to donate a third of your salary to the pediatric ward. About how you volunteer on the weekends at a homeless shelter. I'll call the local paper. They'll make you Man of the Year."

Light bulbs flashed in House's head as he imagined cameras following him around all day. He'd actually have to _see_ patients. He shuddered.

"Maybe I could use a vacation." He stood, thumping heavily with his cane.

Grinning, Cuddy called after him. "Tell Cameron I said 'hello'."

"Bite me."


	5. Chapter 5

_You're beautiful. You're beautiful.  
__You're beautiful, it's true.  
__I saw your face in a crowded place,  
__And I don't know what to do,  
__Cause I'll never be with you._

_James Blunt – You're Beautiful_

**Five**

He found her at her husband's grave and he was nauseated at the Lifetime movie moment of it all.

She looked good, better than he'd expected. He really didn't know what he was expecting. Some part of him hoped she would be disheveled, unable to keep himself together without him by her side. Right. Lifetime movie.

He should've stayed at the house, but the level of discomfort at being around Cameron's father was just too great. So when Father Cameron had said where she was, he had taken off, motorcycle humming.

She wasn't talking. She was sitting near two gravestones, twirling a daisy in her hand. She could feel him approaching. She hadn't heard the motorcycle, hadn't heard the soft step thump of his footsteps across the grass, but she felt his presence, looming over her.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

His voice was softer than she had expected, even given their surroundings. She continued to twirl the flower, staring at the stone to her right. Finally, she placed the daisy in a small holder near the stone, the single flower looking far too lonely in the field of green and gray.

"I didn't need any more of your sympathy. Still don't."

"How old?"

"Two days."

"I'm…"

"Stop. I don't need to hear that from you. Apologies for a baby I lost two months after my husband died. Two days after she was born. Two weeks to early. Life in twos."

"Two weeks is barely premat…"

She cut him off. "When she was born, I could hear she wasn't crying right. She had a hole in her lung. They tried surgery." She spoke evenly, softly. "She was just too weak." She stood and finally faced him. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged and they began to walk, slowly, toward their vehicles.

"Did you tell Wilson?" She looked at him sharply. "You told him how you fell in love with your dying husband's best friend. Did you also tell him you had a baby? Who's the father, any way?"

The expression on Cameron's face made him instantly regret his words, but they had been spoken, there was no turning back time now.

She looked to the trees, her face growing sorrowful. "Of all the men I had to fall in love with…"

"You didn't have to do anything. You can't make people do anything but die. That's the only true power we have."

They had reached his motorcycle and she gazed at it blankly. How had they gotten here? Just a week ago she was riding this very motorcycle, arms clasped around him, hair flying in the breeze. Kissing him. Feeling his skin next to hers. She sighed and turned her sad eyes on him.

She was shocked when she felt his lips on hers, rekindling the fire in her belly she had fought so hard to subdue over the last week.

She pulled back, fire in her eyes that was matched by the intensity in his. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to give you what you want. I don't know why you want me," House thrust his hands through his already rumpled hair.

She leaned against his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her. "I don't either. But I do. And you may think it's preventable, you may think I could have chosen not to love you, but I know otherwise. I want you because my heart tells me it's right, even if my brain sometimes disagrees."

He chuckled and it reverberated against her cheek. "Sometimes?"

She pulled back to look at him. "I know I've said this before. You're not a bad person. You do bad things, cruel things, to get your way, but I honestly believe you do those things for the right reasons. I wouldn't have fallen in love with you otherwise."

"You throw that word around so freely."

"What word? Love? You don't use it at all." She looked deep into his eyes, connecting to him with her soul. "You don't have to be afraid to love. You don't have to be afraid to love me."

"I'm not afraid."

"Then what is it? What are we? Are we even a 'we'?"

"I told you I can't give you what you want."

Now she was furious. "No. I will not buy into that lie. You won't give me what I want. Either because you're too afraid to or because you're too lazy to. I don't know. But I will not put up with it. I am not some plaything you can take or leave as you want."

House was surprised and yet pleased at her conviction. This was his Cameron.

"I was offered a position. At an office not far from here. Family practice. Not the excitement of a hospital, but I'd still be practicing medicine and I'd have a normal schedule. I'd be able to have a life."

He forced his eyes to meet hers. "Is that what you want?"

"You know what I want. You need to decide what you want." She stalked off toward her car. As she went to open the door a cane swung up and blocked her passage.

"It will never be flowers and candles and eternal honeymoon."

"Don't belittle me."

His entire façade cracked. Shoulders slumped, head lowered. "Come home, Allison." His tone was pure, and she new hidden behind those words was also "I'm sorry."

She reached up, touched the stubble on his cheek, watched as his eyes closed in response. "Greg…"

His eyes blinked open, blue meeting blue. The metronome of his subconscious was back, beating the same rhythm, but with different notes. "Love. You."

She smiled and whispered before she captured his lips in hers. "Let's go home."

_Even the best fall down sometimes  
__Even the wrong words seem to rhyme  
__Out of the doubt that fills my mind  
__I somehow find  
__You and I collide_

The End.


End file.
